


Passing the Time

by Sometimes_I_Write_Things



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, Gore, Guro, Masochism, Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, but he dead already but yeah, no double death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sometimes_I_Write_Things/pseuds/Sometimes_I_Write_Things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When there isn’t much to do, one such as Kurloz Makara turns to their own self for entertainment. When one is as dead as Kurloz Makara, the options for entertaining one’s self broaden significantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing the Time

**Author's Note:**

> A little thing I did for an rp blog.

Taking the the last drag of paper-wrapped nip and huffing out plumes of smoke through his nose, Kurloz flopped back back in his pile. Milky-white dead eyes roamed the memory of his respiteblock ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark skull stickers comforting and familiar. It was nice shit to look at while the nip whipped up a delightful haze and softened the edges of his thoughts and senses. He allowed his pan to wander to where it would, allowing himself to be swept off to wherever his thoughts would take him…

Scripture, hymns, colors, blood…

Pails, horns, bones, entrails…

Long fingers skating lightly over his own grey flesh, gloves off and skeletal jumpsuit open to allow for direct contact between his claws and his thorax. He had an itch that couldn’t be attributed to any corporeal reason, an itch that went deeper than something so easily sated by raising a few welts on his skin. 

He scratched over and over at the same spot on his skinny belly, angry purple lines rising in wake of his claws as his ghostly body remembered how to respond to pain and damage. His breathing hitched when he broke the skin, a shudder rolling through his frame and his eyes fluttering closed as he started digging. He curled his claws against the wounds he made, trembling all over as he worked an opening into his middle.

By the time he could fit his fingers inside, Kurloz was panting hard through his nose. He shuddered hard as he felt his insides shift around his fingers, his digits pushing and gently grasping at his squishy organs. It hurt so bad and felt so fucking good at the same time, the pain in his guts throbbing in time with his unsheathing bulge and twitching nook.The nip along with whatever it was about his thinkpan that made him a bit off had every pang of pain take a pleasurable undercurrent.

Grabbing gentle hold of something that felt spongy and tubular, Kurloz started to pull it cautiously through the breach in his belly. He groaned soft and breathy through his nose as his intestines spilled out of him, a sharp pulling sensation down in his belly sending his bulge surging the rest of the way out his sheath and wriggling over the opening in his jumpsuit. 

He curled his fingers around it with his free hand while his other worked on slowly pulling foot after foot of intestine out to pile up on his pelvis. His nook was a constant empty throb, jealous of his belly at the attention it was getting at its insides. Kurloz was drooling now with all the stimulation wreaking havoc on his dead nerves; dead enough to leave his body without the alarms “WE’RE GOING TO DIE” ringing in the primal part of his thinkpan, but alive enough that he could feel it.

He worked his bulge with slow, shaky strokes, fingers usually so deft and graceful twisting clumsily around his inflamed tentacle. A claw popped over one of his ridges and he gasped sharply through his nose as he tensed, the clenching muscles in his abdomen sending pain shooting up and down his spine and a few organs gushing out of the gash in his middle. It made his nook pulse in angry protest for being left empty so far into the fun and Kurloz offered his sweet nestlespace some due recompense.

Gripping his bulge by the base, Kurloz guided it down towards his nook and hummed deep in his chest as his bulge sought out his hungry nook. Filling himself made blood gush from the gash in his belly and more of his guts pushed at the opening, not yet spilling out and putting pressure on the wound. It made his bulge go into hysterics inside its sister organ. Drool collected at the holes the stitches in his lips made, saliva pooling in his mouth with no tongue to guide it back down his throat. He just let it all happen, letting himself drool through his stitches and letting his bulge squirm and writhe against all his sweet spots. 

With his hands now free, Kurloz played in the pile of gore on his pelvis. He held up his guts so that he could see what it is he managed to pull out this time, recognizing a few of the ones that had spilled out aside from his ropes of intestines. Beautiful, it was all so fucking beautiful and there was a burning thrum starting to pulse through his entire being. Oh, he was starting to bleed out. Ah, he never had enough time to really get up in there before another “death” would take him. 

The pain was starting to override the pleasure as he started to “die.” Never a double death from this sort of play. More of a reset of sorts. Bleeding out hurt like a fucking bitch, a tight pulling sting in every vein as his blood spilled out of his middle. He was starting to whine softly in his throat as his nook started to give those sweet warning pulses, coaxing his bulge to give up the load. He was trembling so hard that he was probably seizing up, jaw slack and dead eyes rolling in his head as everything built to a peak. 

Hips giving a sharp twitch upwards, Kurloz came inside himself as he started die. His body went limp aside from the involuntary spasming in his thighs and abdomen, purple material spilling out of his nook past his frantic bulge. The parts of him that had been stuck at the opening in his belly gushed forward and joined the rest of the entrails with a few wet plops. 

The mime lied there breathing shallow little huffs through his nose, a dazed smile on his face as the pain and pleasure started to fade from him. He welcomed the icy numbness, quite familiar with its embrace and happy to be swept up in it. Just as the nip had swept him up and away in his thinkpan, death did the same for his body. He would awaken within hours, his insides put back where they belonged and not a scratch to show for his grotesque recreation. 

He never got to have as much of this sort of fun as he would like by himself. Maybe there was a soul out there in the bubbles that would indulge him, or perhaps a motherfucker he could voodoo into letting him play without a memory left in their pans of what transpired.


End file.
